


The Sams and the Bees

by SleepsWithCoyotes



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Interspecies Relationship(s), Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6131734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepsWithCoyotes/pseuds/SleepsWithCoyotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three things that transcend species: friendship, love, and the crushing embarrassment of getting The Talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sams and the Bees

**Author's Note:**

> Ticktocktober mentioned wanting TF fic with the title "The Sams and the Bees," which clearly means I am not responsible for this in the least.

It was a ritual that had started in his second week of college, after the long flight home from Egypt, the debriefings, the US government's abrupt about-face as they tried to make everybody forget that the Cube shard had been stolen on their watch. Suddenly they couldn't do enough for the Autobots--or for Egypt, which hadn't been happy about having priceless cultural treasures pulled down, crashed into, and blown to tiny pieces for good measure. It probably shouldn't have been a surprise when Sam found himself pulled aside and reminded that while freshmen couldn't have cars on campus, the rules didn't say anything about having a car _off_ campus. Like at his new apartment, cheerfully paid for by the same government that prayed nightly that Optimus Prime would stick to making sentimental requests on behalf of inconvenient civilians rather than renegotiating any treaties. Or relocating. Permanently.

So Sam had gotten his guardian back, like it or not--and he liked it just _fine;_ it was never Bumblebee himself he'd had a problem with--only it was worse than having the Autobot stuck in his tiny little garage back home, because now there was _no one._ No Mom for Bee to play the radio for while she worked in the garden. No Dad to putter around in the garage, talking to himself as much as Sam's weird alien car. No dogs to--well, actually, Bee probably didn't miss the dogs. But no Mikaela to pop in for five, ten minutes just to say hi. The apartment right next to the college--which wasn't obvious or suspicious or downright embarrassing at _all_ \--came with a reserved parking space, but not a private garage.

So every night, Sam grabbed his books and his keys and loaded himself into the Camaro, just to let Bee get out and _move_ for a while. With the windows tinted up to illegal shades of carbon black, no one could see that the driver's seat was empty, that Sam had his legs stretched out across the seats and his back propped up against the passenger door, his eyes anywhere but on the road. He'd always tried to spend as much time as possible with Bee, never quite able to escape the ever-nagging guilt over how boring a life in hiding must be, but now he spent hours every night on the road, sometimes falling asleep to the comforting rumble of the engine, wondering how Bee could still sound smug even months later.

Going home for the winter break hadn't changed that ritual at all. If anything he spent even more time behind the wheel, lazily cruising familiar streets while Bumblebee practically purred all around him. Mikaela joined him when she could, but more often than not, it was just Sam and the Autobot, sleepy suburban streets and the dirt roads outside town, the open highway when Bee really wanted to open her up. It gave them more time to talk, which Sam had counted as an unequivocally good thing, at least until the subject turned to _that._

"Wait," he said, staring in horror at the Autobot symbol on the steering wheel that slid smoothly under his nerveless, frozen hands. "You...but...I mean you...uh?"

Bee's radio spat a soft hiss of static he'd learned passed for gentle amusement. "You're surprised?"

"Well... _yeah._ I mean--you're _robots._ Giant, highly-advanced...robots. I just...figured you guys were _manufactured._ By...other giant, highly-advanced robots." Because they may have gotten life from the All Spark, sure, but the bodies to house those Sparks had to have come from _somewhere._

"Even without the need to procreate biologically, the pursuit of pleasure is nearly universal," Bumblebee pointed out helpfully.

"Gah." This shouldn't be so embarrassing. Really. "It's just...I didn't even think you knew what sex _was."_

_"When a maaaaaaan...loves a wooooomaaan,"_ the radio sang out with a louder crackle of static, and Sam felt his face flame hot.

"Yeah, uh, _thank you, Bumblebee,_ that's--oh. My _God."_

The radio spun up through the stations, the frequency squeal piping a wordless question.

"Mikaela," Sam sputtered, voice strangled. "Your...your _hood--"_

He got a laugh track for that. A _laugh track._

"Oh, yeah, that's just great," Sam groaned, just barely resisting the urge to bang his head on the steering wheel a few times. "I can't believe you didn't _say_ something. I can't believe _none_ of you said anything," he corrected himself, remembering with awful suddenness that they hadn't even been alone that first time, though how he and Mikaela _and_ Bumblebee added up to "alone," he couldn't quite say. But Ironhide had been there, and Ratchet, and-- "Oh my _God. Optimus Prime_ has watched me make out with my girlfriend."

"You and Mikaela frequently share gestures of affection," Bumblebee offered, a trace of confusion bleeding into his tone.

"No, like--there are _degrees,"_ Sam insisted, wanting to squirm in his seat but suddenly feeling like that would just be...no. "There's a difference between kissing your girlfriend hello or holding hands and making out on the hood of a really hot car."

When Bee took a speed bump with a little less than his usual grace, Sam realized just what he'd said, and--his face was probably _radioactive._

"I mean--uh--look. It's not something humans do. Well, most humans, because yeah, _some_ humans, uh...and anyway, that...that was really...rude. Of us. To treat you like a _car_ like that. And it'll never happen again, I swear." Mostly because he'd be too embarrassed to even hold Mikaela's _hand_ inside Bumblebee now, much less do anything else.

He thought his fumbling apology had gone over pretty well until Bee asked, "Why?"

Sam stared. "Uh...why?"

"Yes. I wasn't offended," Bee declared, politely flicking on his left signal as he turned onto a tree-lined street, slowing to a leisurely Sunday crawl. "If it's my comfort you're concerned with, then there's no reason to curtail your activities."

"No, uh, I--"

"If anything," Bee continued staunchly, "you'd be safer in my presence."

"It's just--it's private--"

It looked a bit like driving into a long patch of shadow from the inside, but Sam had seen Bee's windows tint dark one too many times not to recognize the demonstration for what it was now.

"Augh." Why was his crazy space-alien car not _getting_ this? "Look--"

The radio dial spun again, the faint ticking of the turn signal lost as a spare drum riff rattled out, Bee coasting to a stop as Sam's eyes went huge.

"No--ohhh, no--Bee--"

_"Why don't we d-d-do it in the road?"_ Paul McCartney was belting out before Sam could convince his car otherwise, the piano line coming in loud enough to rattle the windows.

_"Bee!"_

_"Why don't we do it in the road?"_

"Oh my God, seriously, no--"

_"Why don't we do it in the ro-o-oaad?"_ McCartney moaned as curtains were flicked aside all up and down the street, old Mrs. Higginbotham looking up from her azaleas and the Madsen girls craning their heads as they whizzed past on their bikes, and it was _his_ driveway they'd pulled into without his even noticing. _"Why don't we do it in the road?"_

"Bee, c'mon, Bee, _Bee,_ don't do this to me--"

_"No one will be watching us--"_

Only that was a flat-out lie, because there was his mother by the open front door, a bundle of Christmas cards forgotten in hand, staring at them with brows arched like she'd never seen them before in her life.

***

Humans, Bumblebee had long since come to realize, weren't exactly the most straightforward of creatures. The Witwicky house itself was a perfect example of that. For the six months prior to Sam's departure for college, Ron Witwicky had alternately claimed that he intended to turn his son's bedroom into a study or an entertainment room, and that he'd finally get the workshop he'd always wanted once he remodeled the garage. Instead Sam had come home to find his bedroom walls had gotten a new coat of paint, new carpeting put in, his old bed replaced, and Bumblebee had actually found himself with more room than before after some of the old garage shelves had been ripped out.

He should have expected as much when it came to Sam's quarters--his research suggested that human parents often left open avenues for return to offspring who left willingly--but he hardly fell into the same category himself. That they'd kept _his_ room "just the way he'd left it" suggested he was still welcome here as well.

He hadn't been sure he would be. Not after Egypt, his spectacular failure. And yet, here he was, taken back in as if he'd never left, as if he'd never broken a single wall or left tire tracks on the lawn or allowed the unthinkable to happen. Ron had opened the garage door for them himself.

The garage with the _new heated concrete floor._

Bumblebee didn't always understand humans, but as he eased down on his shocks with a contented hum, the radiated warmth sinking into his chassis, he had to admit that wasn't always a bad thing.

He was drowsing, attention split between several simultaneous scans and the hypnotic lull of idling systems when a knock on the garage door brought him fully back online with a start. "Yoo-hoo," called a familiar voice--Sam's mother--in the firm-but-pleasant tone she used when she was determined to have her say and no amount of embarrassed squirming from her son _or_ her mate was going to deter her. "Are you decent?" she added in a stage whisper, Bee's reflexive scan showing her casting nervous glances over her shoulder towards the street.

Briefly Bumblebee considered pretending to be inanimate. Possibly _exanimate._ Instead he flicked his headlights on, lighting the garage that had gone dark as the hour grew late.

Poking her head inside first, Judith Witwicky faltered infinitesimally before slipping past the door and closing it quickly behind her, her eyes skidding from his hood to his headlights before settling on his windshield, right where a driver's eyes should have met hers behind the wheel. Wondering whether it would be easier for her if he transformed--most humans seemed to prefer eye contact--he was just about to make the offer when she flashed him a bright, brave smile.

"So," she said, "you and Sam."

"Yes...?" he prompted when she fell silent, vaguely alarmed when she seemed to take that as _confirmation._

"Oh, don't be nervous," she said, though her own laugh was a little uncertain. "We're not...well, you know how his father is, but he'll come around, and you're already practically family. You do realize I still want grandchildren, right?"

He felt several circuits seize as the logic behind that utterly failed to compute. "Grandchildren...?"

Given the option to approach anything directly, Bumblebee had discovered that 86.372% of humans would prefer to imply, deflect, allude to, or outright ignore the matter at hand before finally, if ever, getting down to business. 7.597% would delegate it to someone else, and 6.03%--many of them military--would attack it head-on.

And then there was Judith Witwicky.

Narrowing her eyes as her stance firmed, she said, "Sam _did_ say you learned about us from the Internet. You didn't think it worked like in the cartoons, did you?"

He felt like a newborn AI, capable only of repetition, but he didn't seem to be able to stop himself. "Cartoons?"

"Oh, _you_ know. Those Japanese ones," Judith informed him loftily, waving a hand at him as if to sweep away any protestations of innocence. "Sam still swears those DVDs were Miles', you know; he just gets so defensive, but I know _Ron_ won't bring it up, and _someone_ has to make sure he's being safe, although he never did explain why tentacles."

When Bumblebee transformed into a bipedal heap of panic-wide optics and stuttering processors, it wasn't for her comfort at all. That was purely involuntary.

***

When Bee had revved his engine at him the next morning until he came outside, and said, "We should visit the new base" while Sam was still mumbling incoherently about the time, Sam hadn't needed a Cybertronian-to-English translator to hear: "Please, please, please get me out of here before your mother/father/dogs-with-girly-bling make me implode from sheer embarrassment."

"Let me get my coat," he'd said, because he hadn't liked the way his mother had been eyeing _him,_ either.

The Autobots' secondary base was maybe two hours away as the Bumblebee flew, and flying was a pretty apt description for the way Bee was driving. They might actually make it in half that time, and while it wasn't like Bee didn't have a thing for speed--Sam had yet to meet an Autobot who didn't--this was new. This felt like desperation to get far, far away from something so horrifically mortifying, Sam was a little surprised his yellow Camaro hadn't blushed a screaming fire-engine red from grille to taillights.

"So, uh...should I even ask?"

_"No-no, no, no, no, no-no-no, no, no-no, no, no-no,"_ the Isley Brothers informed him, and Sam tried not to laugh.

"My mom, huh?"

_"Bingo!"_ the radio said with a roar of applause. _"Give the man a prize!"_

"Yeah, she does that," Sam agreed, settling more comfortably into the driver's seat. He had one hand on the wheel, but he wasn't even trying to steer; he had no idea why Bumblebee had ground his gears in surprise the moment his palm had settled there. He wondered idly if his mom had had something to do with that as well, but he wasn't sure he actually wanted to know, considering that Bee had remained completely unflappable through their own embarrassing conversation yesterday. Anything embarrassing enough to have _him_ driving hell for leather in the opposite direction probably didn't bear thinking about.

"So," Sam said instead. "Do we have time to stop for breakfast?"

It was a little after ten when they finally reached the front gates of an old Air Force base that had closed sometime in the 80's. It'd been part of the peace offering the president had made after the mess with the Fallen: authorized presence on American soil, which just so happened to be connected to an actual continent instead of cut off on a tiny island somewhere off India, which had to make hooking up with new arrivals a whole lot easier. Not everybody, Bee had told him once, had any particular talent for seamanship.

Well, if _"I'm your captain, I'm your captain, though I'm feeling mighty sick"_ meant what he thought it did, anyway.

It was still a little nerve-wracking to have a uniformed soldier peer in through the window at him as he scrounged for ID, especially when it was a face he didn't recognize. Call him crazy, but he'd outgrown his plastic six-guns along with games of cops and robbers, and he'd had more than enough of real guns to last him a lifetime. Deliberately _not_ glancing at the rifle slung casually over the guard's shoulder, he held up his driver's license, flashed a tight, half-embarrassed grin, and tried not to jump too obviously when Bumblebee gave a cheerful two honks of his horn.

"Mr. Witwicky," the guard said, straightening and stepping aside. "You're cleared to enter."

"Uh, thanks," Sam said, but Bumblebee was already rolling away, zooming through the gate like he actually had somewhere to be.

"This isn't a social call, is it?"

The radio dial spun indecisively, digital numbers whirling blue as the equalizer guttered and spiked, nothing coming through but a twittering hum of smeary half-words and static.

Though he'd heard about the base from Bee--who'd heard about it from the other Autobots--Sam had never actually visited; no reason to, thank God. It was Bee who navigated the long stretches of asphalt past what had to be the main offices, turned away from what Sam thought might be the motor pool and the barracks and went cruising up to--

"No way," Sam managed to get out, retrieving his hanging jaw with a grin. "What's _he_ doing here?"

To look at him now, it was impossible to tell that Optimus Prime had been _dead_ not six months before, though ironically, the same could be said for Sam. Even hanging around Bumblebee as much as he did, sometimes Sam still had trouble wrapping his mind around it all, wasn't sure if he should find his own recovery less miraculous--because hey, he was organic; healing was what they _did_ \--or Optimus', considering that what couldn't be repaired could be replaced. Up to a point, anyway, and they'd had that much in common, at least; call it a soul or a Spark, both of theirs had gotten the memo and had been going to the Light before being called back.

Optimus looked good, though, gleaming like he'd just been washed, waxed and _detailed,_ not a scratch on his paint or a dent in his panels. It was a little weird to see him in robot form out in the open in broad daylight, but he didn't look like he was in any hurry to get under cover, turning politely to wait as Bumblebee gunned his engines.

"Bumblebee," he rumbled as Bee rolled to a stop, faceplates rearranging themselves into something pleased-looking. "And Sam. It's good to see you."

"Yeah, you too. Didn't expect to see you here, though," Sam greeted as he climbed out of Bumblebee, letting go of the door as Bee pulled it back in, like a bird retracting a wing. Bee was transforming a heartbeat later, and while that was always worth watching, Sam managed not to stare like an idiot in front of Optimus Prime--not when he'd had it so recently pointed out that he'd been making a spectacle of himself, as well.

"We've had several new arrivals," Optimus offered, which probably explained all the military vehicles he'd spotted loitering about--as opposed to all the flashy sports cars, who were probably _actually loitering._ "It seemed best that I come and meet them myself." Right, because who knew how many of them would turn out to be Decepticons?

And wow, he was really getting good at this Cybertronian-to-English thing. Who'd have guessed?

Beside him Bumblebee shifted, and if the 'bot had actually been human, Sam would have said he was doing the awkward conversation dance, only that was just crazy, because--

"Ah," a new voice called, brightening audibly as a big yellow robot came striding their way. "Bumblebee. Just the 'bot I wanted to see."

It would have been wildly funny that Bumblebee was tossing that look of panic at _him,_ not Optimus Prime, who outclassed Ratchet by several feet and at least a ton, except that Sam was too busy realizing that if Ratchet dragged Bee away, that would leave him standing here all alone. With Optimus Prime. Optimus the grave, the dignified, the _totally watched him practically have sex on Bumblebee's hood._ Which wasn't going to be awkward at _all._

"Uh, Ratchet," Bumblebee managed, the stifled sounds of the Beatles crying _"Help!"_ buzzing very softly from hidden speakers. "That's...good? Only I was just--"

"Do not," Ratchet interrupted pleasantly, "even think about running. You're overdue for a maintenance check, and we should have just enough time."

It was always a little amusing to hear those vaguely-British accents coming from enormous metal aliens--especially Ironhide, who didn't act the part at all--but no one could make a startled yelp sound like anything but what it was, no matter how posh the accent.

_"Goodbye cruel world,"_ Bumblebee played mournfully as Ratchet dragged him physically away, _"I'm leaving you today...."_

Optimus chuckled softly, shaking his head, and Sam would usually have joined him. Ratchet might have a slight tendency to operate first, ask questions later, but he wasn't nearly as bad as Bee liked to pretend. Only he was feeling just a little abandoned here, which wasn't Bee's fault, of course, except for the part where he could have mentioned at _any time_ that he wasn't just ignoring the humans and their wacky mating rituals because it was a completely foreign concept utterly beneath his notice. Which...okay, made it sound like he'd built it up in his head that Bee was some kind of wise Jedi master, only this was _Bumblebee._ The 'bot he should never have let stream _Top Gun,_ because now Sam knew all the words to "You've Lost That Loving Feeling" by heart. And he _couldn't unlearn them._ And anyway, if there was a wise Jedi master around here, it was definitely Optimus, who--

"--don't you think?"

\--was talking to him, apparently, and he'd somehow missed it. Damn.

"Uh," he offered, feeling obscurely like he'd just been asked to name the twelfth president or find the value of "x" when he'd been staring out the window, daydreaming about taking Bee and Mikaela up to the lookout.

Wait. That didn't sound quite right.

"Is something wrong?" Optimus asked, kneeling down with a grace that always surprised him considering just how _big_ the Autobot was. "You seem distracted."

"I, uh...no! No, it's nothing."

"Hm."

"No, I mean nothing's wrong! I'm just--I'm on vacation. You know. Doing normal...vacation things. Hanging out with Bee, hooking up with Mikaela...in a totally not-weird way!" he added quickly, feeling his face go hot, then cold. "Uh, because yeah...no weirdness going on. Ever."

He didn't know how Optimus managed to arch a brow at him; the Autobot _didn't have brows._

"Okay, ever _again,"_ Sam confessed, aggrieved. "I didn't know, okay? I wasn't thinking! And he never said to knock it off, so I thought we were cool, only suddenly he's telling me cybersex has like-- _whole new meanings,_ okay, and I swear to God my mom gave him The Talk from the way he's acting, and none of you guys said a word!"

Optimus...blinked at him, the blue of his optics dimming and brightening again. "Ah," he said, his deep voice remarkably sheepish--which was ironic, since it was Sam who was currently wishing the ground would open up and swallow him. "My apologies," Optimus said gravely, which--while embarrassing--was probably a good sign. "I hadn't realized it was the duty of one's progenitors to provide instruction."

Okay, not so good a sign.

"Although we lack the family units you're accustomed to, I suppose I would, in theory, be analogous to a parental figure for Bumblebee--"

Make that Sign of the _Apocalypse._

"--and it would be my honor to fulfill that function now."

Oh God. Oh God, no. Optimus Prime. _Optimus Prime wanted to talk to him about giant robot sex._ If there was ever a time in his life when running away was the right thing to do, it had to be now. Right now. _Any_ moment now.

Too bad his feet were nailed to the ground in an agony of mortified horror.

***

Perched at the edge of an examination table, Bumblebee fidgeted as Ratchet recalibrated another diagnostic scanner, too preoccupied to notice the pointed glances he was receiving. It'd been...odd, for the first time in two years, to have Sam inside him that morning, familiar hands on his wheel, body and interior conforming to each other. All he'd been able to think about was Sam's mother's supremely confident assertion that the males of her species were genetically predisposed to falling passionately in love with automobiles. Just look at Sam's father and his classic convertible--and it wasn't even alive.

It was true that Sam liked to touch him. He'd lost track of how many times Sam had greeted him by sliding a hand over his hood as he approached the door, and he wondered now when he'd allowed himself to stop counting. It was also true that Sam would spend hours washing him when the weather was nice, whether he needed it or not.

"Interesting. Now hold still."

But the touching--that was endemic to Earth. Every warm-blooded species he knew of displayed tactile social behaviors, be it grooming or preening or the clap of a hand on a shoulder. The washing--that could be grooming behavior as well, but more likely it was a convenient cover, the perfect excuse for a young human to spend an extended amount of time with a vehicle while not in transit, and Sam had always been an attentive friend. He couldn't think of a single reason why Sam's mother would think there was anything more to her son's behavior than that, and it wasn't as if Sam wasn't content with Mikaela.

Very, very content. Which they tended to prove at every available opportunity.

"Indeed. Look this way, please."

Not that he _minded._ It was hardly their fault that they couldn't connect any way but physically, and that they trusted him enough, them enough, to build a charge in their presence was a gift. That they chose to _share_ it, with him alone....

"Yes, yes, they're quite remarkable; congratulations. Can we pay attention now, please?"

Oh, Primus. Had he been _broadcasting?_

"I disconnected your vocal processors five minutes ago," Ratchet explained dryly, "and put you on private band. Though if I'd known what I was letting myself in for...."

Oh. Not quite as embarrassing, then, but--

"Really, Bumblebee. Two years is entirely long enough for you to be wandering around like a Spark-struck drone. Now, we're all very happy for you--"

Happy. They were...happy. For him.

"Yes, of cour--"

Wait.

"Hm?"

_All?!_

"Well, Sideswipe seems to think you have 'human cooties,' whatever that means. As I was saying--"

Suddenly he understood why Sam had been so embarrassed, and it worried him now that Sam had been so embarrassed with _him,_ so insistent that the matter was private. He'd never taken the sharing of their charge for any sort of invitation, simply took their trust for what it was, but if even their ease in his presence had been a mistake--

"Bee. _Bumblebee._ Calm yourself--"

\--then it was no _wonder_ Sam's mother had felt the need to explain human sexuality to him in excruciating detail, and never mind that he'd made a thorough study of it within an astrosecond of Sam spotting Mikaela that day by the lake. Half of what Judith had told him hadn't appeared on any webpage, and the other half--

"Bumblebee."

Well, he couldn't explain 'why tentacles' either, but it wasn't for lack of trying.

"Tentacles?"

Oh... _Primus._

"How very...intriguing."

***

He wasn't sure anymore whether he was blushing or not. It was possible that his face was just stuck that way, and he'd spend the rest of his life looking like he was thinking about perverted sex with his car. Or not... _with_ his car, as in him...and his car...only now that he was thinking about _exactly that,_ then yeah, the permanent blush made all kinds of sense.

All the same, spotting Bumblebee wobbling shakily out of the hangar that had been converted to an infirmary filled him with more relief than he could remember feeling in his life.

"Uh... _thanks,_ Optimus, that was...informative. Very, very informative. So I'll, uh...just be going now, okay?"

He knew it wasn't his imagination that Optimus looked amused. He only wished it was his imagination that Optimus also looked knowing.

He was practically running by the time Bee noticed him coming, and the Autobot took one look at him and transformed with a speed usually reserved for battle. Throwing himself through the flung-open door, he collapsed into the driver's seat and groped for the steering wheel, fisting his hands until his knuckles stood out white.

"You," he said in a strangled voice, "are so, so lucky. You have no _idea_ how badly I want to delete the conversation I just had."

"I'm too afraid to delete mine," Bee admitted in something close to a whimper. "What if I end up having it _again?"_

"Oh, man. And I was _joking_ when I said my mom gave you The Talk."

"Er...she did, actually. Give me The Talk. And then Ratchet tried to talk modifications with me. _Modifications,_ Sam."

"Well, it can't possibly be worse than charges and--and arc effects, and--"

"At least he didn't bring up tentacles."

_"I told her those were Miles'!"_

"Maybe so," Bee muttered, "but I think she kept them."

Sam choked. Then he wheezed.

And then he was laughing helplessly, both hands still gripping the sheering wheel as his forehead banged into its curve, going breathless as the radio spun to _"She's a super freak! Super freak! She's super-freaky...."_

"Oh, man," he breathed without lifting his head. "Maybe it runs in the family."

And he did not just say that out loud. And the screech of the radio careening randomly through stations did not mean that Bee had heard him.

And he did not forget practically on sight that everything inside Bee was as sensitive as the outside was tough.

Jerking upright, he sat gingerly back, trying not to touch anything at all, the faint hiss of dead air from the radio letting him know he'd managed to shock Bee speechless.

"Uh." He didn't want to talk about this--he didn't even know where it'd come from, so how could he talk about it? He just.... "Are we done? Can we go home?"

Bee's engine turned over as smoothly as ever, but Sam kept his hands clenched on his knees and let the wheel take care of itself.

***

It was too strange after a while to be on the road without music, but for the first time, Bumblebee found it hard to settle on a station. Music wasn't just background noise for them; it was interaction, conversation, and Bumblebee had no idea what to say. Sam probably hadn't meant anything by that offhand remark, but now he was tense and nervous, and it was too late to brush it off with a sound bite or a joke. Realizing that he wanted to be more than just an observer to what Sam and Mikaela had, more than just the friend that kept them safe...that wasn't something he could joke about.

But the silence between them _echoed,_ so eventually he found a podcast he could stream, something completely instrumental, kept it soft and unobtrusive when Sam glanced uncertainly at the radio.

Fisted hands relaxed, knuckle by knuckle, and when Sam finally gave in and leaned back into the seat, Bee felt his own frame shudder in sympathy. Eventually Sam cleared his throat, started telling him about a humorously disastrous family road trip, and Bee didn't mention that Sam was talking a little too loud, a little too fast, or that he'd heard it once before. They were talking, and it wasn't perfect, but it'd be okay.

He was, apparently, used to settling.

***

Slumped on a relatively-clean stool in her dad's shop, Sam watched as Mikaela ran a cleaning rag over...something whose pieces had been spread out over her worktable until she magically fit it all back together again. Okay, so he still didn't know that much about cars, much less motorcycles--or maybe he knew _too much_ about cars, just...not the kind of cars you worked on in Shop class. Which was why he was here. Watching Mikaela work. While trying to ignore the awesome yellow Camaro parked just outside.

"So, uh...I got The Talk today," he said at last, grimacing as she looked up at him with a wry smirk, eyes dancing.

"Isn't it a little late for that?"

"Yeah, well, I got this one from Optimus Prime. About...Bumblebee. And...yeah."

Funny...she didn't look all that surprised.

"I mean, who knew?" he insisted, feeling suddenly like what he'd missed was just obvious, and that was worse than wondering if Bumblebee thought he'd been oblivious because he'd been thinking of his friend as some kind of dumb machine. If he'd missed something that should have been blindingly apparent, maybe he really had been thinking like that. "They keep telling us that gender is a biological construct, and they don't exactly have families, and I seriously did not know where babies came from until Optimus showed me holograms. Optimus Prime! _Holograms!"_ Which was somehow the worst of it; he'd seriously rather sit through another discussion with his mom about "Sam's Happy Time" than ever listen to Optimus lecture helpfully about charge-building and interfacing ever again.

And if he _never_ heard the word "networking" for the rest of his life, it would be too soon.

Mikaela huffed at him, but it sounded amused. "Yeah, well, try getting it from Ironhide, without the holograms."

It took a minute, but Sam eventually thought to close his mouth again. "Ironhide?"

"Mm-hmm."

" _Ironhide_ gave you The Talk? When was _this?"_

"After Egypt--when they were giving out all those medals?" she prompted, setting the cleaning cloth down and swiveling her chair to face him directly. "Will's family came, of course, and I guess Ironhide must've gone to get them, or...well, anyway, I saw him and his wife in Ironhide's cab--just kissing!" she explained, laughing as Sam shot her a betrayed look, wondering if everyone he knew was going to try their hand at traumatizing him by the end of the night. "Only I think she was really glad to see him. _Really_ glad. And that just...it seemed _weird_ for them to be doing that...there."

"Weird?" he echoed, his face going cold, muscles locking up stiff and frozen. "But...I mean we...Bumblebee...."

"Yeah," she said matter-of-factly, meeting his eyes without flinching. "But that's Bumblebee."

He hadn't realized he'd been so obvious about his relief until she gave him the girlfriend smile, the smile that said he was a hopeless idiot, but it was cute on him, and anyway, he was _her_ idiot.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Well...it got me thinking. So I asked them."

"Oh, man," Sam groaned, shaking his head. "No wonder you and my mom get along so well. Only you would ask a Special Forces guy if he's gay for his truck."

She rolled her eyes at him, but she didn't shoot back with what he was expecting.

_Well, you're gay for the Camaro, aren't you?_

Maybe she figured it was just understood.

***

It'd gotten late by the time Sam came out of the Banes' repair shop, shrinking into the coat he was still settling into as the wind kicked up outside. Part of Bee's scans immediately began collecting data on air temperature, wind chill, barometric pressure, determining that the chance of solid precipitation overnight was 35% and rising and that both of them were in for a scolding from Judith if he allowed Sam to stay outside much longer.

Throwing open his door, he turned the heater on full blast, encouraged when Sam approached without hesitation once he'd made the invitation. No light fingertips slid along his hood this time, but Sam's hands were tucked into his armpits, his entire body leaning towards Bee as he quickened his step, falling into the front seat and pulling his limbs quickly inside like he wanted the door to close _fast_ behind him.

Bee obliged, but when he turned over his engine, Sam didn't reach for the wheel. He only sat there and shivered for a moment, despite the warm air Bee aimed in his direction.

"So," Sam said at last, voice cracking oddly on that one word. "I just got The Talk from Mikaela."

The faltering of the roar of air circulating through him wasn't quite the same as his own breath hitching in his chest, but he thought he finally understood how the phrase must feel.

"I...see."

"Yeah," Sam said with a laugh, nervous but hopeful. "She, uh...she wants to drive up to the lookout tomorrow if you've got time. I told her I'd ask, but that if she was holding out for modifications, you'd have to talk to Ratchet first. And then she hit me."

Sam was grinning, though, had been grinning since Bee's radio had started going haywire, engine sputtering, and--

The hand that slid along his seat from Sam's hip to his knee should have been familiar, ignorable, only it was _curious,_ a slow, inquisitive glide that made him shudder, wires singing with sparks. It wasn't quite like the charge Sam and Mikaela built together, and the human nervous system was so insulated that Sam's charge alone was nearly a tease--but it wasn't _shared_ this time, overlapping onto Bee only because he was close and trusted and known. It was just him, just them, and it was perfect. Perfect.

"So just what kind of modifications was Ratchet talking about, anyway?"

Though it resulted in Sam clapping both hands over his ears and yelling, _"Brainbleach!"_ he was confident Sam would forgive him.

_"Though she was born a long, long time ago...your mother should know...your mother should know...."_

**Author's Note:**

>  **Songs used:**  
>  Percy Sledge - "When a Man Loves a Woman"  
> The Beatles - "Why Don't We Do It in the Road?"  
> The Isley Brothers - "Nobody But Me"  
> Grand Funk Railroad - "I'm Your Captain"  
> The Beatles - "Help"  
> Pink Floyd - "Goodbye Cruel World"  
> Rick James - "Super Freak"  
> The Beatles - "Your Mother Should Know"


End file.
